Conan: Annaki: Legend of the Death Bird
by zzetta13
Summary: A tale of the barbarian in his youth. Conan was not only a man, he was a man of incredible strength an intelligence. Even when he was younger his tribe knew that he was special, but Conan was not given things without fighting for them. His god Crom demanded that he earn them.
1. Chapter 1

_**Conan**_

_**Annaki: Legend of the Death Bird **_

Fiction by zzetta13

"_Know thee, O prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars_"...

Author's note: Exploring the character of _**Conan the Barbarian**_. My hope is that new readers to this work will at least give it a try, and I'm talking here about the works of Robert E. Howard, Lin Carter & L. Sprague de Camp.

Conan was first introduced to me years ago and was a character that touched my soul. Written by Author Robert E. Howard, for pulp-fiction at the time, the character gained popularity by the reprint and completion of his stories by publishing company Lancer Books (in the early 70'ties). I spent one whole summer submerged in these novels, and I couldn't get enough of them.

Anyhoo, I am sure that many individuals and writers of today can speak that those books, those novels (as well as others) made an impact on their lives.

Conan, as the author was first to note, was of the age of a time whenever a boy was to be born, the son of a mother and father whom were not of royal birth, but rather, of a tribe of hill-folk that lived well to the north of civilized society. Cimmerians they were called, and unto them would be produced a future king, a man whose legacy would influence the rest of the world. That man, that future king, would eventually become known as Conan, Conan the Barbarian (as he was still called "barbarian" by the literates of his age that considered him as less than human).

Conan was not a man bound by the laws of the world of his time. As to say, he was not anchored down by legends, traditions, or the superstition of his age, which is to say he did not let them hinder him in his search for adventure or stop him from doing what he wanted to do. Conan was from a different race of people, a different breed. He had grown to believe that the only way to knowledge was to experience things for oneself. Therefore, his zeal was to live life to the fullest, to experience things that lay well beyond the borders of his land, and beyond superstition and fear.

Most people of the barbarian's time (just as now) lived in the safety of their cacoon, but not he, Conan, he considered himself as someone willing to travel to the lowest levels of Hades or to ascend to the highest mountain of his god Crom, to find and discover the truth (even if it meant that he would sacrifice, meet the devil of his time face to face, Satan, or the Divinity, God Himself), to gain understanding of the cosmos.

Conan was the type of individual that held the deepest inquest to understanding and the acknowledgement of the universe, beyond the heavens as to say. He lived not in fear of death for he knew death was coming for him at some point, actually he considered the reaper as a traveling companion. He still believed that a man was a master of his own fate, but he also believed that, if someone feared death or dying then they roped themselves, figuratively speaking, into a corral of horses. That they would never extend consciousness to the outer boundaries of human thought.

I hope readers give the Conan character a try, here, and at least the twelve original paperbacks books published in the early to late 70ties by _Lancer Publishing_. I consider them adventure filled and a joy to read, Z

_**Prologue to Legend...**_

It had been spoken about the Cimmerian culture that, as man-child approached only a handful of summers of age he was taken out and then led onto a journey, a quest, a time to prove his blood and his bravery. It was considered savagery by some, barbaric, uncivilized and something expected by those who lived out in the wild as wild. Well, that my friend, is exactly what it was...but it was not cruel.

The boys were taken out into the snow, far away, to a region, a place known to have sheer cliffs and steep ravines. They were then led up an escarpment, many lengths high, and placed upon a far ledge amongst the frost and the ice. It was a far drop below, a long distance; any slip would mean a certain fall to death. The boys were then told that they must climb down, not by way of the path they'd come, but by route of the sheer mountainside itself, therefore, upon descent they knew that they must grip the rock with all their strength, and, they must be smart. They must search for the best way to descend.

The only way to Valhalla (heaven) to meet Crom, their god, was through struggle, sacrifice, and _adventure_. And that was how the world to them would be from this moment on.

Those who were able to descend the cliff successfully, were considered proud blood of the Cimmerian peoples and might even someday come to be chief of one of its many separate tribes. The ones who did not climb down or met with ill favor, well their father's left the ravine with woe, and a sad tale to tell.

This was the race of a youth, a boy, someone who would grow to become a man, a man who had struggled, had sacrificed and most certainly, seen adventure. A man that one day would be ruler of his own kingdom. That man, one of the boys who'd come down the cold, frozen, rocky cliff that day, so many years before, was _**Conan**_, _**Conan of Cimmeria**_.

At the time of this writing the young barbarian boy Conan, had seen less than twenty summers, still he was already almost six feet in height, and he was someone not to be trifled with.

_**Conan and the Legend of the Death Bird...**_

The man walked through the wilderness with the corpse of an animal he had just hunted draped around his shoulders. The beast's hooved legs were tied together across his chest so that he could travel with his arms free. His body was covered in a thin layer of animal hide and in his right hand he carried a long wooden staff, protection from any predator wanting to take his kill from him, or maybe even take him as its next meal.

It was known, that during winters such as this, harsh and foreboding, creatures of the land were desperate enough to make the attempt to claim a prize from the humans they shared this rugged country with, even one of his stature.

The man was young, he had only seen sixteen summers, however he was tall, and his torso and shoulders spoke that those had been hard summers, followed by even harder winters, yet he had fought through them and grown strong. The snow, in which he was traveling, was up to his knees, but he was making his passage through with seemingly with little effort. From his lips poured the frost of a chilled breath, proving the frigidness which remained in the mid-morning air. However, neither the cold nor the weight of the beast upon his shoulders seemed to bother him much.

He paused momentarily, sensing something watching him, eyes upon his shoulder's from above. He turned and witness something well off in the distance, something dark and foreboding up in the clear blue heavens. It was stygian, and so far up in the northern sky that even with his steel blue eyes, eyes of an eagle, he could not make out its details; however its wingspan was enormous, and he knew, he knew this beast was no animal, it was a god, the god...

"Annaki...,"

He whispered the name under his breath, for it was spoken that anyone uttering the god by name must pay a toll, a price, even though it be spoken in private, with no other around to hear. The lad took a shallow swallow; his throat parched a bit from the intake of the thin frigid air of the highlands. He would partake of a handful of snow later, to quench it down a bit, however his eyes remained transfixed on the sight above.

It was only a black patch so far up in the sky and it seemed to just hover there, float on the wind, which blew upward and lifted from the high mountain peaks far below. He knew too that seeing it up in the sky, on a day like this, was an omen, it meant that the god was hungry, hungry and desiring of payment to keep itself satisfied until a time next winter, or some future time to come when it grew weary again.

The fable of Annaki was legend, a tale spoken of around campfire by elders to the young when they were first allowed to listen to such things. He recalled that it was said that when the beast would appear in the sky, that it had grown tired of the vast treasure horde it kept in its cave and had a desire for more. It was spoken that the god lived high up in the mountains, in an inaccessible lair in a cliff-side dwelling, and that it had a thirst for wealth and riches, and to look upon its face, or to attempt to steal any of its treasures meant certain ill fate.

Conan did not know if he believed any of that. Even his god, the Cimmerian god, did not ask for treasure. Crom lived up in a palace in the mountains also, and was seated on a throne that he looked down from and was humored by the quests of humankind. However, he neither helped nor hindered his creation. What fate lay before humankind was their own, and of their own making. Crom did respect strength and courage though, and upon death would evaluate one's life before allowing them into Valhalla.

The man staring up at the beast now had made a promise to himself, that at one time, some day, he would travel to the Annaki's home, find it, and go inside. He would see for himself the riches which had been offered to the flying god over the years, and the wealth spoken to be stowed inside its lair.

Almost as a reflex, he reached up and pulled at the leather strap which hung around his neck, the thin strap on which was strung six small pieces of the hard gleaming rock which was treasured by the tribes of his clan, and even more so by the tribes which lived in the huge camps to the south. Cities they were called, and sometimes when people left those cities and traveled here to his mountainous lands of Cimmeria they made trade for the yellow rock, they called it gold.

Gold was a metal whose value seemed high, and the minute pieces held around his neck Conan had found himself in a riverbed just this past summer. He also knew that gold was treasured by "Annaki", the Death Bird of the sky, and the god would send its priests out, its followers to collect it for him. He knew too that if the beast was displeased with the offering of any tribe, or if they refused to pay tribute, it would venture from its lair and destroy that village, and the lives of those of its dissatisfaction. It would burn their homes to the ground so that not even a kindling of wood remained standing. He had seen it, witnessed the destruction other tribes' villages with his own eyes after the beast had come and gone. It was said that the god could breathe fire, which is why some of his kinsmen called it a dragon rather that a bird.

Conan did not know or care whichever the beast made be, all he knew was that he wanted to see it, witness it up close himself, and its treasure, even though it was said to bring death.

Conan watched the beast hover for a while. Then he returned to the task of bringing his hunt to his family so that they may eat well this night. He would also give some of the meat to the family of Glista, a girl of his fondness and one he meant call his own and take into his dwelling, when the time had come for him to have his own dwelling, which would not be long. He would make her his mate, and she would bare to him his children. Maybe this was all unknown to her at the time, but it was another promise Conan had made to himself...

He smiled and headed towards a shallow snow lined creek just up ahead of him.

_**To be continued...**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Conan**_

_**The Legend of the Death Bird 2 **_

_******************** **__**Offerings ******************_

As Conan made his way towards his village, burdened with the bulk of a beast that he'd slain that morning weighing across his shoulders, he could hear the excitement of his camp as he approached, and he could also smell the smoke of something burning. It filled his nostrils and told him that there was a blaze up ahead. He too, could see the pillar of smoke from a fire which had been set. It rose straight up into the heavens in a thin Column above a thick stand of trees, which blocked his view of the activity going on in his village. Still, as he grew closer he knew that he need not be concerned about the smoke, or about what was burning, for he knew, he knew what it was, AND, he also knew what it was not.

The smoke and the fire were not due to his village being attacked by the "_Winged god_". Conan knew that there would be no reason for the beast to attack. If anything, the fire had been set to pay homage to the _Death Bird_. His people may be demanding and brave, and have the courage of the _white lion_ which prowled the regions of the high ridged mountains of Cimmeria, however, they were also superstitious, and if Annaki wanted tribute, then his clan would abide. They would certainly and give the god his due, just as they always had.

The elders of his tribe believed in the gods wholeheartedly, and even though Annaki was not their god, the divinity was still a god that demanded sacrifice. Conan knew that the fire had not been set by the winged giant, but rather it had been constructed to honor him, Annaki, it had been set to show compliance.

The Cimmerian youth was of a proud race, a bonded clan of people that knew struggle at every sunrise and would stand against the moon should it come down to steal their horses, he knew that his people would get down on bent knee to only one, their chief if he asked of it. However, Conan also knew that no chief of his clan would ask a kinsman to bow before him, it was not their way. Too, he knew that his tribe was considered among the fiercest of the Cimmerian clans. Still, the sight of the Death Bird brought ill ease to his village. The elders of the tribe had long ago decreed that should a priest of Annaki come, then they would award the representative the spoils of his desire to satisfy the Sky god.

(_Seeing the total destruction of villages of other clans can often sway someone's judgment, and although their god was Crom, Conan's people lived in distress of Annaki_).

Still he, Conan, did not share this belief, and actually he was considered at times to be an outcast, for he did not always follow the rules. They called him _Opprorer_ during some moments (rebel/troublemaker), and all he needed, all he waited for, was for the elders of his people to speak against Annaki...and that they would no longer contribute to the spoils of his ambassadors, or bow down in appeasement. Then, that day he would rise up, and deliver, with his own hand, death to the god who had choked his people for so long.

However, the young barbarian knew this would not happen. With the sick, the elderly, and the women and children within his tribe it did seem that the better judgment was to give away a few swords, a few bits of gold, and a couple of animals, to have the priests become satisfied. Still, the Cimmerian's blood boiled and his soul filled with rage at the sight of the black image in the sky, or the sight of any of its priests. His temper flamed from past memory...

Conan recalled some time ago, whenever he was younger, his father had fashioned a weapon for him, a sword. It was of the finest caliber of steel, not only forged in the fires of the _**smith hut,**_ which had been located in the center of the village at that time, but it had also been forged within the fires of love and honor. He had spoken to his son of the riddle of steel, and how Crom would ask him (Conan), of the answer to this riddle upon his passing before allowing him into the halls of Valhalla.

Conan had cherished that sword; he'd made his first kill with it, however, soon after a priest of Annaki came, a man calling himself Ploeto Moon. Moon had made a pilgrimage to Conan's village, and he'd seen the sword sheathed across Conan's back. He had spoken that it would make a fine contribution to the Winged god and that Conan should put it upon _The Pit of Offerings_ (a smoldering fire meant to be seen by Annaki as he flew across the heavens) However, Conan had refused. Conan's mother, and the elders present had said that it was the right thing to do. That it would keep them safe now that many of the able-bodied men were guarding their border to the south.

Conan had placed the sword near the pit, reluctantly, however he had made a vow, silently, to one day get it back. This is one of the reasons he'd promised to discover the Death Bird's perch...and he still lived with that promise.

_************** **__**Ple-ato Moon ************_

(_Conan_, _sometime earlier, with his kill still at the creek's edge_)

The young barbarian, with his hunt still wrapped around his shoulders, could see up ahead the stream which he needed to cross before continuing on to his village. However, as he made his approach he observed that the current had become more rapid from after his last passing, its waters more swift and the bottom had become deeper. Maybe the rise of the sun had caused the snow melt to increase, so now, what lay before him was no little creek, but almost a small river with waters that would reach up to his waist, or even up to his chin. Now, Conan did not fear this, he was a strong swimmer, however, with the behavior of the creek being changed, it would become more burdensome carrying his kill across.

With the weight of the beast around his neck, and the swiftness of the water, Conan could tell that this would not make for an easy passing. He took a moment at the water's edge to think, and he came up with a plan. The youthful barbarian, although not lazy, was not beyond completing his journey with minimal effort, if a way be found.

He remember the length of cord he'd wrapped around his waist for binding animals or tying anything down that need be should the task call for it. It was a length of vine, and Conan often used the advantages of nature to assist him in his endeavors. He removed the animal from his shoulders, tied the vine securely around its antler's, drove his staff deep into the snow and into the earth beneath, and then lowered his kill into the waters. His idea was to float his hunt downstream as far as the vine could travel, which could be quiet a distance, and then recover the meal once he'd made his crossing, alone. Even if the vine broke, Conan knew that there were rocks downstream, boulders which would snag the beast with its huge rack of horns and he could retrieve it later. He lowered the animal into the water and the current took it away quickly.

In moments Conan had crossed the stream and although wet and cold, he knew that his body heat would soon dry out his skins; he made his way down to retrieve his hunt.

He found the beast some distance down and just like he'd considered, the vine had broken and the animal had drifted down further. It had lodged itself between two sturdy boulders and the young barbarian was able to gather it up quickly. Just as he made shore he heard someone call to him.

"You there lad, that would make a fine offering to Annaki, the Sky god. He flies overhead this day, and is in want of offerings."

Conan turned to see two individuals standing there, knee deep in snow just outside the tree line, and the Cimmerian said nothing at first.

"My name is Ple-ato Moon," the man continued, "...and this is my servant-man Colmoedorr. We are here to receive sacrifices for the god up in the sky. You my friend are blessed to be able to bring such a gift to the table."

Conan made a quick study of the two. He knew the priest from his robes and from before, however the man's companion he did not know. He was a younger, younger than the monk, however older than Conan, but just as tall and just as thick across the shoulders.

"Yes monk, I know who you are," Conan said, "but this night my family will savor the meat of this animal. Cooked upon an open flame and doused with the herb of essences."

"Why you..." and Ple-ato Moon's young protector began to make a step towards Conan, "...you will not disrespect a servant of Annaki like that."

The priest grabbed his arm and held him back, and unknown to him at the time, he was lucky that the monk had done this, or the young barbarian might have taken two kills that day. However, unknown to Conan, the monk had also seen the gold around his neck. Gold which Conan had been saving to one day give to Glista.

"We shall see," the monk said, and then the two turned in the direction of Conan's camp and disappeared into the trees.

Conan stood outside the tree line which ringed his village. Yes he knew what the smoke was from, and yes he was not happy about it... however, wasn't it known that Cimmerian's savored adventure?

END PART 2


	3. Chapter 3

_**Conan**_

_**The Legend of the Death Bird 3 **_

Author's note: After a break, continuing on with the story.

_*********__** The Legend of the Death Bird 3 *******_

Conan's steel blue eyes glared into the snow, which shown almost like untainted ivory in the noonday sun. He was making his way back towards his village, and aye, he knew what ivory was, he'd seen it embedded into jewelry brought back from territories far, far away...adventures traveled by some of his kinsmen, but not many.

This was a bit of a curiosity to the barbarian, why did they pay homage to the god Crom, a god who looked down from his throne and held respect for those of his creation whom had shown courage, bravery and a lust for adventure? Yet still, most of his people never left their homeland. They were good people, and they loyally worshiped the mighty warrior lord of the Cimmerians, so why should Crom think any less of them? Anyway, Conan had questions for his god, if he ever reached the halls of Valhalla.

For some time now the young barbarian had become curious about the world beyond the rocky crags of his homeland. And too, he wished to see such animals, like which the ivory come from, for himself. It was spoken that those long ivory horns came from the mouths of the beasts, rather than being mounted upon their heads.

Conan's adventurous travels would begin one day, he knew, but not this day. This day he had another beast to contend with. There was an animal that the young barbarian considered more of a leach rather than a warm blooded beast with fur that walked on two legs, or even four. He felt that the priest Ple-ato Moon was no more than a worm, a parasite, a monk who exploited the fears of HIS people, and many of the other hill tribes that he stole from to honor the god Annaki. Conan felt that one day the cleric would be exposed for what he really was...a thief.

Conan knew what lay ahead, hidden beyond the trees, beyond that barrier that even his eyes could not penetrate. Aye, he knew that the monk and his servant lay just beyond that stand of timber, and that they were seeking rewards for the god up in the sky. He just wondered how well he could control himself.

It was said that when the smoke reached a certain height and a certain width that Annaki would be satisfied, that he would be pleased with the clan who had made it, and there would be no reprisals taken against them.

Conan didn't care about any of that, what he did care about was that his hunt be delivered to the one's it was meant for, his family and that of Glista's, and to do that it must be concealed.

As he began to enter the outer regions of his tribe's encampment he found his family's hut and he dumped his beast behind it and covered it with snow. Then he made his way towards the center of the village where he knew he would find Ple-ato Moon and his servant. And he did find them, commanding his clansmen to bring their offering for the god and to set it before him, before the pyre. Conan's clinched his teeth tightly together, and he felt something ablaze, a not only on the pyre but also in his blood.

_*************** Boiling ***************_

"Yes, yes that is good of you."

As Conan approached the center of his village he could hear the monk's pleasure at having his instructions followed without trouble. As he rounded the last hut he came into view of the open space that was the center of the village, and he could see that some of his clansmen were bringing things, their goods, and dumping them onto the snow at the cleric's feet.

"Yes, Annaki will be pleased with the offerings of you today. Today is a good day, a fine day," Ple-ato Moon was saying.

Conan could see that there were three elders of the village standing just across from the monk and his servant. Conan recognized the old, bearded elder between the two others as the tribe's chief, Acht Finger. He stood there between the two other men holding onto his staff with both hands, griping it as if it were a wooded rod helping him to remain standing.

Acht Finger was an old man, and he had been chief of Conan's tribe for some time. Conan considered that he may be one hundred summers old, but his mother had always cautioned her son about saying anything of the chief's age. The man held wisdom, the wisdom of the stars, which was more often seen as stronger than actual physical strength itself.

Anyway, Acht Finger was named so because he had only eight fingers, two had been lost in battle eons ago it seemed, when he had been about the same age Conan at this time. And he now expressed knowledge and an intuition that others considered god-like, he was well respected.

Acht held a rather blank expression upon his face. Conan could not read whether his chief was, angry, sad, or scared. Although he knew that his chief had faced many fears in his life, so it was not likely that he was afraid. Anyway, Acht just stood there, while the pile of offerings presented to the cleric grew bigger and taller.

There were animal skins being piled up before the monk, and jewelry. And Conan could see a couple of lavishly constructed knives which had been placed near the pyre as well. Knives that he recognized as his father's smith-work, blades crafted as gifts before his father had been quested to join the thirty others in the defense of their homeland's southern border, to guard it, to keep it safe from invading armies of the southern kingdoms. Yes Conan knew that his clan sacrificed much to live in their homeland, and remain free, and his tribe seemed to be paying an allotment for that freedom at this moment.

Conan, and sixteen other youths had been placed in charge of guarding the village and its occupants of two-hundred now that thirty of his clan's older warriors were in encampment many horse-travels to the south. And he felt guilty for letting one, such as Ple-ato Moon, enter and deplete them of supplies that may help some of his kinsmen survive through the cruelties of the Cimmerian harsh winters, some of the animal coverings and weapons that may help to keep them alive.

The monk looked around the crowd which had gathered, he noticed Conan standing there.

"Three small pieces of gold would help in the cause of satisfying the Winged god this day."

Conan reached up and griped the leather strap around his neck, but he did not move. He felt a tug on his arm and turned to see his mother there, her eyes pleading she spoke...

"Only three," she requested, "the three smallest. You can get more from the creek later."

Her son slipped three pieces of shiny metal from the cord. He handed them to her and she placed them among the offerings to Annaki.

Conan looked over at the priest and watched as the monk salted into the pyre a bit of dust. It almost resembled dirt; however the pyre quickly exploded into a seemingly angry flame, reaching half as tall as the trees which surrounded the village, and its billowing smoke turned to stygian black.

"Now, the sky god craves but one more offering," the priest said.

Conan turned to see that the monk's eyes had turned upon him. Ple-ato Moon then continued...

"It has a desire of something for a meal, something of nourishment." Ple-ato Moon said, and his eyes were in battle with the blue blazed eyes of the young Cimmerian.

"The sky god may not only wish the acquirement of the gleaming shininess of jewels and weapons, nor only the skins of animals long slain to appease him, but Annaki, also has a taste for the newly hunted, beasts who's bodies may have been taken this day."

Conan knew what this meant. That Ple-Moon wanted his kill from that morning. The animal that he had packed across so many snow drifts to bring to his family. The barbarian stood frozen in his tracks, he did not move. That hunt was for his hut and the people who lived within. He would not be offering it up to any god, least of all one not his own. Just then there was a draw of breath from among the crowd and Conan turned to see that Acht, along with the two other elders of the tribe had left and were now returning to the pyre, and in their arms were parts of the beast Conan had slain that day, the best parts.

END PART 3


	4. Chapter 4

_**Conan**_

_**The Legend of the Death Bird 4 **_

_******************** Asunder *********************_

Evening had come to the lands of the hill tribes of Cimmeria, and there was a young man, a guardian of one of its villages, sitting before a fire in somber contemplation of what had happened that day.

Conan and several others had been placed in the responsible role of safeguarding the tribe, of seeing that the village was secure against attack, however this day his village had been invaded. Not by southern hordes mind you...nor enemies from the west, but rather by someone who had traveled through the snows as a servant to a god that his people did not even consider their own.

Ple-ato Moon had taken the spoils which had been laid before him, and then he and his servant had vanished into the forest of the Cimmerian wilderness. They had also acquired a horse and cart to help them with the transport of their spoils.

The young Cimmerian was not happy. He just sat gazing into the fire, his eyes burning with a kindling of loathing. Even at sixteen Conan was aware of loyalty and honor, and a man's duty to keep his home safe, his clans-folk protected. Keep them from being robbed. Still, what would his father think when he returned from guarding their south border? Returned home to find that many of the tribesmen he'd forged steel for had given the means of their protection away to the god Annaki.

No, Conan was not pleased. He just sat there, blue eyes affixed to the flame, the light of the fire illuminating his face to show the scowl of his contempt. Others had joined him, clan-brothers Tork and Vars. Two young Cimmerians who had only known sixteen summers as well. Conan however, was in no mood for any talk this night, nor was he in the mood to drink berry juice. He was too occupied feeding the fames of his anger. He too had been stolen from. The beast of which he had hunted earlier in the day had been stripped of its finest meats, and then those had been given away. There had still remained enough food to feed his family, but Conan's idea had been also to share some of the prize with the girl he hoped someday to take as his mate. That had not happened.

Anyway, the young tribesman did not turn his head to look in any direction but rather only at the flame before him. Each of his friends sat quietly also, gazing at the light as it flickered this way and that, knowing too that they had all been tasked with guarding the camp. Now they looked into the fire as if they were looking for it to tell them their future.

Conan was sitting on a timber of logs, which had been placed around the pit, and in a short moment he heard the sound of something approaching him from behind. He turned quickly, as swift as a snow panther, blade in his hand flashing in the light of a living pyre.

"Hold...stay thy hand my young tribesman," came the voice of Acht Finger. The old clan chief stood there, just outside the brightness of the firelight, his expression obscured by the darkness of the night.

"Come here Conan, come to me," he quested of the young guardian of his tribe's village. Conan was hesitant for a moment, he had not been in the mood to talk to his friend's so what made the chief of his village think he wished to do other with him? The young Cimmerian, after a moment, did make his way to the clan's leader, and for a time he just stood before him, studying his emotions, his mannerisms.

Acht's eyes were the color of a mountain lake, and even with his age they were as blue as Conan's. The younger Cimmerian looked into those pools, his eyes searching for answers. Answers as to why his chief would give in to a priest of Annaki, rather stand his ground and fight? The chief began to speak.

"My young tribesman, I know that you are ill with me now, but I am here to tell you that there will be a time when the fortunes men like Ple-ato Moon will be no more. That there will come a moment to bring Annaki down, and all of the clergy that follow and serve the winged god as well, but this was not that day. Still it will come soon, and your hands will be a part of it."

Conan stood confused, his eyes staring into those of the chief's. The elder always talked in riddles instead of speaking his thoughts or intentions directly, it was one of the reasons why Conan held little regard for Acht's words. They could be the words of Ple-ato Moon for all he was concerned. If a man did not speak plainly, if his words were chosen in such a manner as to be obscure, or as to be the like of waters of a murky hill pond, then what lie beneath? Maybe it was the words of someone who had lived too long, maybe they had learned how to disguise their speech, hide it in the cloak of deception, like the snow panther hides itself in the cloak of a snowbank before it pounces. Conan listened as his chief elder spoke...but only slightly.

"I remember the day that you were born. Your mother baring you on a battlefield...our peoples were under siege that day, our camp attacked, yet she had the strength to bring forth a child...,"

Acht paused here and looked deeply into the young warrior's eyes. "You should always honor your parents Conan. Do their will as much as you can. I saw a new star in the dark nighttime sky the day that you were born, and it spoke to me. It told me that what lay ahead for you were many adventures, and that one day you would be king. As to what kingdom you may rule, I have not the knowledge, I only now that it will happen. I too know that you've seen ill of me this day...for what you assume is me bending the knee to the lord Annaki. However I will say to you that you are wrong and I hope that as you see more summers you also see the wisdom in what I'm telling you."

Acht looked at his young tribesman's face. He wasn't sure if Conan was listening, but he knew before the night was over that this eager young clansman would meet with a challenge that would change him, would change his way of thinking before acting too quickly, too irrationally. The elder of Conan's tribe stopped his sermon there, and then swiveled to return to his hut.

Conan didn't know, but Acht had seen something in the stars that night, and it had spoken to him like the stars he had witnessed that first night after Conan's birth. Maybe the young Cimmerian should have listened to the words of his elder after all.

_***************** The Challenge ****************_

After Acht had returned to his hut Conan had returned to the fire. Tork and Vars were still there, however, they had been joined by Glista. As Conan returned to his place on the log by the fire he gripped the leather string around his neck to hide the three remaining pieces of gold which remained on the strap.

It had been his plan, his idea to give the gold to her, whenever he had deemed it time to choose his mate, only it had been his desire to award her with ten pieces of the shiny metal rather than just six, and now he had only three. If the priest of Annaki had been there, standing right before him at that moment, the young Cimmerian would have choked the life out of him...but of course Ple-ato Moon wasn't standing in front of him.

Anyway, this would delay his intentions a little. Glista was only one summer younger than Conan, and the hill folk of the mountains averaged their marriages at fourteen summers, rather then what the so-called civilized folk of the southern regains considered proper age. Crom, Conan's parents had been even younger than that.

Conan felt old not having a wife at this time, one with a fat belly with his lineage stowed inside. However, he had been waiting until he could praise her with a gift, a present of which part had been stolen from him just that day. He looked at Glista and found her looking back at him.

"My mother and father tell me that you should not be so mad with the elder chief of our tribe Conan. That Acht Finger is a wise man and knows what is best for the clan, he is legend," she said to her fellow tribesman.

"Aye, and one day I will be legend too," Conan spoke.

Tork and Vars laughed...

"Yes," Tork spoke, "and one day I will wear my mother's fur under clothe." He said this in a humorous manner.

Then the three, other than Conan, bellowed loudly their laughter into the night sky.

However, Conan recalled Acht's words about him one day being king.

"One day I will be king, you will see."

His three kinsmen continued to laugh, although it was more due to the image of Tork wearing his mother's underthings rather that the idea of Conan becoming a king.

After a while as the humor abated Glista looked over at the man she knew had a desire for her.

"Well, if you are wanting to prove your kingship, how about you start tonight," she said.

All three boys fell quiet and looked at her.

"My brother tells me that he knows where the lair of Annaki lies. That he has been told that it is way up in the mountains only a horse's short ride from here. He has told me of its true location."

"Snow panther's dung, (bullshit)" Vars said.

"Ney," Glista retorted, "and I know where it is."

"Let us go," Tork spoke all excited, "what better way to renew our honor than to steal back from Annaki what was stolen from us?"

Conan had not spoken at this point, but his eyes had turned into the bright pitch of a clear blue sky. Glista turned to look at him.

"...What better way to turn the scow on your face to one of the joy of a mountain leopard after its first kill? Can you see Acht Finger's face in the morning after he leaves his hut and sees the furs and spoils of what was stolen from his tribe the day before back in camp? It may cause his eyes to fall from his head and into the snow at his sandals."

Conan looked at the girl that he had chosen from an early age to be his mate. Glista was an adventurous soul, almost as adventurous as he was, and he liked that about her. A smile spread across his lips.

"I may become legend before the night turns into the light of a new morning," he spoke. It was the jest of a braggart, of someone whom held confidence in themselves as much as a mountain yak stands on a pinnacle and bellows its dominance over the world. But did any of them really know what was coming?

END PART 4


	5. Chapter 5

_**Conan**_

_**The Legend of the Death Bird 5 **_

Author's note: This 5th chapter could be considered a love story of Conan, maybe his first love actually. An AU adventure which helps to describe what may have led the young Cimmerian to become the way he was, with life, with adventure, and with women. This story arc may show the reason why he may have had several loves in his life before he found the one that he would make his queen.

I hope to put a smile on REH's face.

Conan was a man, yet he had sensibilities. Raised by a strong father, and too, a very strong mother, the Cimmerian held on to a sense of family. His orchestrated life was one of adventure, but also of love and honor. Conan lives on even today.

This story arc goes beyond just our favorite barbarian's beginning, but also moves towards his motivation, his history... and his family and tribal upbringings. Hope that readers can (and do) enjoy my exploration in this direction...my thanks to you for reading, Z.

_********************* Glista ********************_

The way to Annaki's lair was long and drudging, and the wind had picked up somewhat blowing bits of snow from the cracks and ledges of the rock which made up the hill country of Cimmeria. However, the flakes from these frozen crags did not dim the light which filtered in from the star-filled sky up above. Nor did it alter the determination of four souls who were traversing the landscape in an attempt to find what they were looking for. Four bodies, four individuals who were making their way towards a destination that some were not sure really existed. But one did, one believed that it was there...Glista.

The young girl had seen only fifteen summers, but she was as bold and adventuresome as any of her partners on this quest. She had challenged them to a task of sorts, a task that was to begin that very night.

Glista had heard from her elder brother that he knew the location of Annaki's lair. It had been told to him by a merchant trader who'd come through the Cimmerian territory some time ago, and it was a tale which spoke of the entrance to a hole in a mountains which was fabled to be the home of a god.

At first Glista did not believe him, but his words were so captivating, so convincing that her curiosity had peaked and she was of the mindset to head out and find if it were true. She had slipped away from the parent's hut and had encouraged some of the young guardians of the village to join her, namely Tork, Vars, and Conan.

Glista was curious as to see if she could get this young man, Conan (a man she held feelings for herself), to follow her into this venture. If she could get a grip on his heart like he had taken a grip onto hers.

As she made her way in lead of the column of adventurers she looked back to see if Conan was following. He was, right there behind her.

Glista was shepherding Conan, Tork, and Vars, through the night as if she were a mother panther leading her fold to a safer location. She trudged forward through the stifling, knee deep snow, and through the dark canyons of their homeland.

Conan kept an eye on the girl in front of him. Not only on the sway of her hips, which made him smile, but also to see if she really knew where she was going. He was watching to see if there was any hesitation, any doubt. So far he'd witnessed no faltering. To this point her course had been direct. Now, as the night grew darker the three in her wake were beginning to wonder how much further it would be before they reached what they sought.

Glista knew that Conan was watching her, she knew that his eyes were upon her, and that thought (_that his eyes were watching her every move_) made her smile. She had fallen in love with her young clansman the day when he was thirteen, and she was only twelve.

That day, that time just at daybreak, the both of them had gotten up early and had sat by the tribe's central campfire in the morning dawn, when the sun was just beginning to peek over the mountain ridges. It had been just the two of them.

She had looked at his face in the early morning light as he had moved to wrap the cloak that he had worn around her. He'd shown a desire to see to her comfort against the cold. And as she felt the warmth of his cover she had looked into those eyes, eyes of which had captivated her, which had caused her to become spellbound. They were so blue, no, more than just blue, they were oceans filled with mystery, pools whose depths remained unexplored.

Glista knew that any girl, any woman could get lost in such pools, and that there were several females of her camp who would have melted just to have him look at them that way. And yet, here he was looking at her in such manner. Glista knew that she was a bit different than many of the other girls in camp, she was bolder, more willing to take risks, and she knew that Conan liked that.

She had started this quest for two reasons, aye...one, to find Annaki's lair (_to see if what her brother had told her was actually true_), and also she wanted to know if Conan would follow. So far he had remained right behind her, so close that she could hear his breathing, and that made her smile.

Glista knew that the moment would soon be upon them, that just up ahead, past the next turn (in_ the ravine in which they were traveling_), that there they should find the spot, the home of the Death Bird. The fabled lair of Annaki.

_********************The Cave ********************_

Snow was still falling, still being blown from the cliffs and the crags which surrounded a small group of pioneers who'd come in search of a god's home.

Glista halted; the canyon was steep here, with walls that nearly protruded straight up from the knee deep snow which piled up against its base. The ravine was narrow, with stone ramparts on either side, the distance of which, if one was to place seven horses from nose to tail, then they would span the length.

"This is where Annaki lives," Glista turned to alert the others progressing in her footsteps, "somewhere among these stone walls."

The others looked about. They saw nothing.

"Glista, I think your brother may have spoken to you words of golly," Tork said. "There is no beast here, no treasure god who flies over our country. No Lord of the heavens who soars above the mountains peaks, flying so high that we look to him as only burrowing bugs."

The young woman looked straight up...

"Then what is that there?"

Eight sets of eyes looked up along the high rocky ridges of the pinnacle to the west side of the canyon, up past a stone outcropping where there seemed to be a faint red glow coming from a cavern hidden up there...unseen.

For moment none of them spoke. Aye, it was obvious to all eyes that something as was going on up there. It was spoken that even though Annaki was a bird, the beast could breathe fire. Was the winged lord up there now, vomiting his molten breath as to forge all the treasure his priests and minions had gathered up that day into one piece of solid gold?

"We should make camp here," Glista said, "and then I will go in search of this god."

She paused and looked around, "who will be my brother in this pursuit?"

She searched from eye to eye. When she got to Conan he spoke, "I will not follow you," he said.

Glista was a bit shocked at first, of all the men whom she thought held adventure in their hearts...Conan was the one she thought would not avoid a chance at discovering something new, at becoming a legend, as he had spoken of sometime earlier. She was a bit taken back with his words, and then her clansman continued.

"I will not follow, but I will go, for my maiden. Conan does not follow a lady into the unknown, into danger, but he may be a soul that leads."

_**************** The Lair of a God ****************_

The rocky ledges leading up to Annaki's lair were almost knife like, the edges of stone so cold, so hard and sharp, that they ripped at the flesh of the fingers that reached up to grab them.

Conan's breath was coming out like a fog at the force of his effort, and his hands were bleeding from many cuts as he made his way up the steep wall. He looked down over his shoulder and noticed Glista in his wake (_Tork and Vars had remained behind, entrenched in the snow)_,and looking down further the young barbarian could see that the others of his party had made a small fire to shelter themselves against the frost of the night's chill.

Conan could also see too that, as she climbed, Glista's hands were bleeding, the crimson showing her effort in the dimness of the starlight.

The young Cimmerian could tell by looking deep, deep into her beautiful blue orbs (as she starred up into his), that her eyes were filled with wonder, rather than pain...That the red seeping down her arms and dripping from the bend in her elbows only meant for her that no effort was too great to achieve adventure.

Conan returned his gaze to looking up the mountain (and looking for his next hand-hold). He smiled, he liked that. He liked that he had found a woman as adventurous as himself. And he found his heart beating even the greater.

Just within the length of two men up ahead, Conan could see that they would reach their goal. The ledge there glowed with the breath of Annaki.

At the edge of a rocky protrusion Conan took a grip with both hands and then swung himself up and over. He landed on his feet like a cat, and without turning to look at what may lie ahead, he turned and reached for the girl who'd championed him up to this level.

Conan took Glista by the hands and lifted her up onto the ledge as if she were a feather. She felt lighter to him than the kill he'd made earlier that day. Then both of them turned to face what lay ahead.

The two could see a cave entrance for sure...lightly illuminated by the fire of a sleeping god's bellows, or maybe the coals of a hot furnace. Conan made witness to the similarity of the village smith, in his father's work at forging the riddle of steel.

It was a glow that was slight in its radiance, and it would not have been noticed from the ground had Glista not known when and where to look up. Her brother had been right after all.

Conan began to make his way into the cavern, and Glista, she did not follow, nay, she was right there, right at his side every step. The two entered the cave and as they advanced the glow and the light seemed to become stronger and more powerful. Conan witnessed that at no time did his partner falter, she did not pause or hesitate. She moved forward, in stride with his own steps.

The tunnel was not that wide, maybe three horses across, and after a while the two found themselves at its end, oh, the cave still continued on, but at this point it had taken a downward turn, it cultivated into a shaft, a vertical continuation that seemed to lead straight down.

Conan and Glista stood at the pinnacle's edge. The shaft seemed to be as deep as twenty men...And looking around the two adventurers became aware that they had not been the first souls to venture here. There were old, fiber torches, which were strewn upon the ground, and littered around the brink of the hole. Nay, there had been others here before them, but the question was, what had happened to them?

Conan and Glista heard a deep moan issue forth from the depths below, a deep groan which spoke that something was unhappy with their intrusion. Conan equated it to the bellows that his father used to forge iron into weapons, only much louder and much angrier sounding. Did Annaki know they were there?

Just of a sudden fire seemed to well-up the shaft that had led down into the depths of Annaki's lair. The flame was bright and seemed to be chasing them. Glista looked into the eyes of Conan...

"You know how you want to become legend...well that may not be something you attain if we remain here much longer, RUN!"

And with that Glista turned and headed towards the entrance of the cave at a sprint. Conan was only the whip of a serpent's tongue behind.

At the cave's entrance the two lunged for the opening just as the heat of the fire raced across their backs. They dove off the cliff, each turning to grab ahold of the rock formation as they spun in midair to latch onto the rocky outcropping... and then griping it with all their strength.

Conan looked down at Glista, she barely had a hand-hold on the rock she was holding onto, and she was slipping, the glow of the light from the cavern illuminating her face, showing clearly the fear in her eyes. A fear which expressed that she may not be able to hold on much longer. Conan reached down and took ahold of her fingers, but it was only the bare tips. In the matter of a moment she release and the young barbarian watched as the girl slipped from his grasp and fell backwards headed towards what destination lay for her at the bottom of the canyon.

He could see in her eyes terror, those orbs big and round showing the fear of falling, and yet backwards making it even the more terrifying. It was a sight that burned into his in eyes, his soul, his memory. One he could never forget.

END PART 5


End file.
